The Will of a Dead Man
by catjouly
Summary: Francis never understood diseases as a child. Now, he knew what having one was like. And he didn't like it, not one bit. [No pairings]
1. Finding Out

**A/N - Before you say anything, yes it is France and Hungary, and no they aren't going to be in a pairing. I will probably only do a few chapters for this, not a lot, as it will only be small snippets from Francis' life with a brain tumor and so... yeah. I did try to incorporate humour into this, but you know.**

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Science was never really my forte.

I remember learning about microbes - how viruses can find an opening in just about anything and that germs can be found anywhere, you just can't see them...

...but I never really understood how a person can lose a battle so quickly against a disease that is so much smaller than the person it's fighting against. Looking through a microscope, all I saw was a bunch of blobs and various other shapes, one that looked like a skipping rope the girls at school would play with at break, and it didn't occur to me much that those little 'blobs' had the power to take down a fully grown man.

I also learned what to look out for when a person contracts a disease. Coughing up blood and weight loss for Tuberculosis, tiredness that no one can explain and a recurring fever for AIDS. I suppose it was good that I had learned this beforehand, but I had never deemed a situation important enough to use this information. I had it all in my head, though. Stored up there with, "How the human body is formed."

Funny. Seems we were all arseholes at one point but I guess that some just decided to stay like that.

...

Sorry, getting off track.

...

I guess it didn't occur to me much that one day it could happen to me. One day, I may have collapsed in the street, the feeling of a migraine coming on but the seed of doubt gnawing at my brain (quite literally) telling me that it wasn't just a simple headache and that I should get it checked out _right now. _I did, eventually. The ever present sting of the metal smashing against my head was still felt, and knowing that stalling would have pissed her off even more, I decided to go. The collision my head made with the frying pan didn't help matters and in fact, probably made it even worse. I shall have to thank her later, accompanied with a few wise words and smart-arse remarks.

I went. The waiting room bored me to tears (or maybe I was tearing up because of how white the room was.) The doctors called me in and gave me a check up. I _had _expected them to catch something wrong on the first try but they said that nothing was out of the ordinary and that I should just go home and if anything felt odd in any way just come back and they'll try again. So I did. That's when it started to get worse, the symptoms becoming more apparent and my health falling rapidly.

...

I woke up to a numbness in my arms and realised that maybe something _was_ wrong. I didn't want to believe it, but maybe she was right.

I did need help.

...

"Have you experienced anything weird lately?" She had asked me one day, sipping her coffee slowly while giving me a look that said, "no-bullshit".

"Yes... kind of. When I woke up this morning, there seemed to be a tingling sensation in my arms-"

"Has this happened before?" She interrupted.

"No," I was given _that_ look, "...yes, but it seemed worse this time though."

"You need to get this checked out, and I mean seriously this time. It is not a laughing matter anymore and I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Elizaveta, I..." She put a hand up to stop me.

"No. I want you to get this sorted out. Whatever it is, it's messing with you and causing problems."

I sighed and looked down at my coffee.

"I am just looking out for you. We may have never seen eye-to-eye but you're still my friend. Do it for me, Francis,"

I looked up at her as she gave me one last desperate look.

"Please."

I closed my eyes and nodded.

It had to be done. I just couldn't ignore her pleads any longer.

Especially when I knew she was right.

...

"Name?"

"Francis Bonnefoy."

The receptionist gave me a look and I realised that I had seen that look before. Though where I do not know.

"Take a seat and a doctor will be out shortly."

I muttered a "thanks" and sat down. I looked around at the other patients in the waiting room. They all looked like they had experienced death already! Children, elderly... everyone was affected with diseases that they will probably never recover from, having to stay here eating hospital-food (which everyone knows is nothing compared to French cuisine~) and-

"Francis Bonnefoy, the doctor shall see you now."

My thoughts were cut off as I sharply looked up at the receptionist. She gave me an irritated look and pointed at the door on the far right. I ducked my head as I walked passed her desk, not wanting to see her scathing glare any longer.

...

The doctor was a young lady with a kind smile and a soft, harmonious voice. My heart fluttered at the thought of _me_ and _her_, but when I realised that I would probably be a dead man walking soon, and seriously, who would want to go out with a person who would probably die in a few years, I decided to stop.

"So, how do you feel at the moment, if you don't mind me asking?"

"To be honest... I feel like shit."

Her smile twitched and faded a little. She opened her eyes (when had she closed them?) and stared directly into mine. Brown met blue.

"As I know of, you have been experiencing head pains, like migraines, correct?" - a nod - "And you are worried about a numbing sensation in your arms and legs, which really, if it was normal, it would have been gone by now."

"Does that tell you anything about what I... I may have?" She frowned and looked at my medical records, in thought.

"It does give me a starting point as to what you may have. Other than that, I will have to run some tests to get a better look."

I saw her take out a syringe and my eyes widened. It felt as if everything was in slow-motion as I saw it get closer and closer to my arm until-

"Oh." Blood filled up the syringe and she took it away from my arm, rubbing the area with cotton to get rid of the excess blood. Her smile returned as she looked at me.

"All done. I will call you in a few weeks to tell you my diagnosis."

I looked at her to my arm and back at her again.

Well, that was quick.

...

In the next few weeks, I felt even worse than the days before and at times I just wanted to collapse where I stood and sleep off a few years to ease the pain and constant fear. Elizaveta constantly told me that that would do no good and whacked me on the head a few times for good measure, to "get it into my thick skull" as she put it.

I lived my life as normally as I could, until the phone call came. _The_ phone call. I had prepared for this moment, but the shock of what I was going to be told caused me to sweat profusely. Picking up the phone, Elizaveta watching my every move, I gave out a reply, though it was stuttered and clearly showed how nervous I was.

"H-Hello?"

"Ah, yes, hello. I have got the test results back and I am afraid that I have got some grave news."

My sweat poured out in buckets by that moment as I listened intently to what she had to say.

"You have-"

No. It can't be. Don't say what I think it is-

"a brain tumor."

I almost dropped the phone then and there but managed to keep it in my slippery grasp, wanting to know more.

"Wh-What? How can this be? I mean- how- what?"

"I know this comes as a shock, Mr. Bonnefoy," I could hear the frown in her voice, "but there are treatments for this, and we can help you."

"R-Right."

"I will give you time for this information to sink in. As for now, goodbye Mr. Bonnefoy."

"Right, bye."

Putting the phone back on the hook, I turned around slowly and faced her. She looked at me with pain in her eyes, as if she already knew what I was going to say, and I hated that I had to be the one who confirmed it.

"Elizaveta... I have a brain tumor."

...

She didn't cry, not properly any way. A few tears leaked out but other than that, nothing. I didn't cry either, to be honest. I felt sadness and a sharp pain in my heart, but that was probably from the stress of having to cope with the news of my impending death more than anything.

I managed a smile for her, though, to show I wasn't completely down.

"Hey, it's okay. I am still the Francis Bonnefoy you know and love, the womanizer from the country of love as you know~" She giggled at that and looked deep into my eyes.

"I just don't want you to go." I flinched.

"H-Hey, who said I was going to go? I have got a few years left, I'm not leaving just yet."

"I know, but... just the thought of you gone, it'd be weird. What would your parents think? Are you ever going to tell them?! I'm the only one who knows, aren't I? What about Antonio and Gilbert, they deserve to know. If you're gone, then I wouldn't be able to do target practice again." She whined, but a smirk pulled at her lips. I laughed at that.

"You've still got Gilbert."

She laughed properly this time but I couldn't bring myself to.

I now knew how serious this was and that because of this, I was leaving people I loved and cared for deeply behind.

I didn't want to do that.

Never.


	2. Unexpected Death

**I am so sorry for leaving this so long. To that person who reviewed, this isn't a oneshot after all! Yay! Unfortunately, I was only planning on one more chapter after this, so... sorry ;^;**

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To say that the news of Francis having a brain tumor was a shock would be an understatement. It was a great surprise (even though 'great' wouldn't be the right word to use) and I felt like collapsing in a pool of my tears, drinking my sorrows away and wishing upon a star for Francis to be alright.

Wouldn't help much but it would make me feel better.

He seemed to have been taking it well, although you could never tell with him. His reputation wasn't the greatest, with the titles of womanizer and sex-fiend with hazy booze-related incidents held to his name, but when he felt like it, he could sob and rant and have a huge meltdown, that caused all of his emotions to come pouring out in a flurry of wine and shady drugs from the Dutchman next door, like nobodies business.

I give him 1 minute until he does just that.

...

"-oh Liz, what am I going to do?! I have never had to deal with anything like this before and my parents have never ha- Oh God, my parents! What will they say? How will they react?! I can handle Antonio and Gilbert, but do you realise how hard it is to console two worrying, middle-aged humans, who just so happen to be the parents of _this_ handsome beast? _Oh, woe is me!"_

I patted his back, shushing him like a mother would do to a child having a tantrum (which this practically was) and listened to his rambling.

"You're being unreasonable. I am sure that they will act mature and responsible, like parents should be. Don't worry about it and instead think about happy things! Rainbows, flowers, ponies, mother's home-made Gulyasleves soup..."

I could hear Francis chuckle at that, and I felt pride swell up inside of me...

Great, now I have to whack an idiotic Prussian _(and a Spaniard, if I'm lucky)_ to not feel like such a sap. Well, I guess I can't blame Francis, he _is_ having to deal with this news personally after all.

...

If I have enough time, maybe I could get a few more hits on Gilbert and Antonio.

...

Now that that was said and done, I had given the task of telling the news to his parents to Francis. He had whined and had tried to stall me but I just told him to get on with it and stop being such a child. Honestly, it was like working with a toddler...

He did tell them in the end, and as expected, they were upset. His father had to hold his wife, while she managed to give words of encouragement and love, saying that they were going to help him and do all they can for him. I can now see where Francis gets his passion from (Antonio isn't only the one with it, y'know) and determination. It was admiring, really. We were there for him, all the way, never giving up on him.

Until he became seriously ill.

...

Now, I have never had to deal with one of my friends, or anyone close to me, having a serious and potentially fatal disease, and now that I have the chance to experience it, I didn't _want_ to experience it. It was horrible and nerve-wracking, not knowing whether they are going to survive or just drop off in the night, the beeps of the brain monitor sounding throughout the room. I couldn't imagine what his parents were feeling. I couldn't imagine what Francis was feeling - was he even feeling at all? Or was he in a state where he can't interact with us, can't hear us, can't focus on us because he is dealing with his own personal problems?

...

Francis has so many scars and injuries, now covered with scar tissue. One on his neck (he never told me where that came from, but he did hint at a very large blade that came close to finishing him with one swift blow), one on his chest near his heart... so many. How could a man go through so much yet wake up every morning with a smile on his face, waiting to face the day? This was all so confusing...

I looked at the Bonnefoy family and realised that they were in more pain that I am. Makes sense, I suppose. I sighed and looked back at Francis, the one person who was annoying to the point of becoming endearing. I smiled at all of the fun times we had together - me whacking him with my frying pan, him trying to come onto me but I whacked him with my frying pan before any moves were made... good memories.

My thoughts were rudely interrupted by the shrill, monotonous ringing of the monitor, where lines were now straight. My heart beat wildly as I tried to comprehend what I was seeing, what I was hearing. My best friend... was dying? Already dead?!

I felt hands on my arms as I was dragged out of the room, Francis' parents after me kicking and screaming, his mother screaming at them to save him - save her precious boy. When the door was closed and I was outside staring at the space where I just was, the sobs echoing around me, I realised that the wetness on my face was tears.

I was crying.

...

These chairs were so uncomfortable, exactly like the tension that was filling the air at this moment. Mr. Bonnefoy had given me an empathetic smile, knowing what I was going through, while he stroked Mrs. Bonnefoy's hair away from her face, holding her close to his body. I tried to smile back, but it fell flat. He sighed and laid a hand on my shoulder.

"It's going to be okay, Francis is strong, he can make it through this. I know my son better than anybody." I looked into his eyes and knew what he was saying was truth, or what he believed to be truth. Placing my hand on his, I gave it a firm squeeze and smiled weakly. He was going to be okay. Francis wouldn't leave me alone. He's not that sort of person. He wouldn't put people through the pain of losing someone dear to them, not like he did.

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly as I felt the stinging of tears come back full force. _Joan... _such a lively girl full of passionate, amazing ideas. She was so young when she died, the fire wiping her and her entire family out of existence. Francis was so devastated when he found out that his childhood crush was burnt to a cinder, that her body was just too damaged to be clearly recognised. Francis recognised her though, so we all just took his word for it.

Francis would be happier in heaven. Joan was there.


End file.
